Yeah, yeah, your bones are made of vibranium, I get it.
[Tony waves it off like it's no big deal - and it isn't, really. If Steve says his bones aren't broken, then he believes him. He sets down the washcloth to take another drink, then gets out the gauze and the rubbing alcohol.]
This is gonna sting.
[Hey, just because Steve doesn't get infections (probably) doesn't mean Tony isn't going to observe proper wound care. He handles this like a professional, although his experience is - shockingly - mostly from treating himself. He sucks a breath in and braces himself as he starts cleaning Steve's wounds, glad that the edge of the sting is filled by the alcohol.]
Ohhhh shit.
[Maybe not enough of it. Ow, that hurts like a motherfucker.]
[ Tony ignoring his apology is the least surprising outcome. Steve doesn't press further; he needed to say it and now he has. That's enough for now. Given how their last conversation ended, Tony probably has the right idea anyway.
He hisses at the sting when Tony begins disinfecting his wounds. ]
[It's not that Tony ignores Steve's apology, he just doesn't know how to acknowledge it. Steve apologizes for a lot of things, and Tony knows they're all genuine, because that's just how Steve is. Must be that Irish Catholic in him. Tony's never been good at accepting apologies - it takes more grace than he really has - and usually he just wants to move on.
Except this is something where they probably shouldn't.
The bandaging itself isn't as neat as it might usually be; Tony's doing everything with his left hand, which is already less dexterous even without taking the scar tissue into account. But it doesn't have to look pretty; it's mostly there to stop blood from getting on everything, since it's not like Steve has to worry about anything else.
When he's done, Tony just keeps holding onto Steve's hand, staring vaguely into space as his thumb rubs idle circles on the palm.]
I'll have to see about getting someone in to clean this up.
Thanks. [ Steve doesn't offer to clean it up himself. He is perfectly capable, he still has one good hand, but he's learned that Tony extends olive branches by giving. He doesn't want to turn it down.
In the end, Steve is going to have no one to blame but himself. He could have put a stop to all of this before it even started. He knew, even then, that his feelings about Tony weren't casual. But he wanted whatever he could get, and he's still making that same mistake now, leaving his hand in Tony's because he isn't ready to break contact.
That's the other thing about being Irish Catholic: he's a glutton for punishment. ]
[Tony hunches in on himself a little, pressing his forehead against Steve's fingers. He's silent before a few more moments before he starts to speak haltingly.]
I didn't mean to imply you made the wrong choice or didn't have an active choice in the matter or...whatever. I just- I'm not good enough for you. [He lifts his eyes to meet Steve's gaze.] I know you aren't perfect, and I'm not trying to make it sound like you're some marble statue on a pedestal. I just think you could find someone better than me. Someone who doesn't pick fights with you all the time, for starters.
Oh, Tony. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say.
[ Steve sits up on his knees and places his good hand against Tony's cheek. He is distantly aware that normally someone would have to drag the words he's about to say out of him, and even then, it might not work. But they come with an ease now that he's afraid to question. ]
There isn't anyone better than you. Not to me. Even when we're at odds and can't stop fighting, there's still— there's no one else but you.
[Oh. Tony's stunned into silence, and all he can do is blink tears back, although he will never admit to it. He can't fathom that Steve would actually want him - not in terms of a lifelong relationship, which by definition involves spending extended non-homicidal periods of time together, although probably he won't have the strength to needle Steve if Steve just continually fucks him to the point of exhaustion-
Okay, yeah, he's definitely going off on a drunk tangent there. The point is, Tony doesn't understand why Steve seems to want him, but gift horses, mouths, etc.]
I was fucking miserable the whole time we weren't speaking, [he admits while blinking his eyes like there's something in them.] All I did for years was drink and mope and complain about you to anyone who would listen. I'm pretty sure they weren't fooled at all.
They offered to fit me with a new suit, in Wakanda. I wouldn't take it. I wore out the suit you made me, and then I kept wearing it.
Stopped shaving, too.
[ Sure, there were practical, international fugitive related reasons for his beard. But it also worked for him during a time when he couldn't stand to see his own face. A time when he would've given anything not to be the man who left Tony in the tundra, defeated and alone. ]
[ Steve forgets what he was going to say. It doesn't matter, whatever it was. Tony is kissing him again, and this time Steve can't write it off as being caught up in the heat of a moment, this is wholly intentional. Real.
He reaches down to pull the bottle from between Tony's legs and set it on the floor. With that out of the way, he can press himself up as close to Tony as possible. He digs his hand into Tony's hair as he deepens the kiss. ]
[Tony has his own opinions on how things should be (big surprise), and he just scoots forward and lets himself fall into Steve's lap. It's much better - a more comfortable seat, for one thing, and they're on the same level, and they can press up against each other all they want. The move isn't terribly graceful, but that's what happens when you have two fucked up hands and have to rely on gravity to do your dirty work.]
Too bad telepathy isn't an option, [Tony muses when they stop to catch their breath.] Imagine me talking in your head.
[This would actually be the worst punishment imaginable for everyone but Steve.]
You wanna drive me crazy. [ Steve says, sounding breathless and dazed in the best possible way. He wouldn't survive Tony in his head, he's sure of that. As it is, he felt like he could burn up from the inside from the mere suggestion Tony planted in his mind about beard burn, and he was speaking aloud then. Good think Steve loves a challenge. ] Tell me what you're thinking anyway.
[A normal person might take this opportunity to vomit up a decade's worth of buried sentiment, all the feelings Tony's thought about in quiet moments at night and then shoved behind a locked door like one of those storage closets that threatens to unleash an avalanche on the hapless idiot who opens it. Tony has never, ever been a normal person.]
Well, at just that moment, I was thinking about how if I had telepathy, I'd say dirty things in your mind while you were in line at Starbucks, for example, and I'd be like "Oh, Steve, that pumpkin spice latte is hotter than the way you moaned my name when I swallowed your dick last night" and you'd get embarrassingly hard in public and not be able to do anything about it till you got home, but then you'd probably get your revenge when I was in a board meeting and start telling me everything you wanted to do in excruciating detail and I'd just be stuck there staring at investors for, like, an hour.
[ Between the warmth of Tony sitting in his lap and the ideas that he puts in Steve's head, Steve can't help jerking his hips up off the floor, pressing his hardening cock against Tony. ]
Mm. You'd be so helpless, sitting there trying to keep your composure, picturing all the things I'm saying in your mind. [ With his bandaged hand, Steve pulls on Tony's collar until their lips bump into another kiss. Clumsy yet effective seems the theme. ]
[Thankfully, Steve's lips cut him off, and they're safe from Tony's horny stream of consciousness for the moment. Instead, he shifts to straddle Steve properly so he can grind down against him. Tony's not sure how they can manage any sort of penetrative sex with one and a half functional hands between them, but, hell, he's fine with a bit of frottage.]
[ Steve whines into the kiss as Tony grinds against him. In the back of his mind, he worries that the novelty will wear off and Tony will tire of his body's heightened drive. So when he breaks the kiss to say— ] We really don't have to do anything... [ —it's because he wants Tony to understand that they don't have to follow where Steve's body leads. In fact, they probably shouldn't. Keeping up with his dick is not something he needs Tony to strive for, or feel any type of way when he inevitably can't. No one really can, and that's something Steve came to terms with ages ago. ]
[Meanwhile, Tony's starting to consider the scientific challenge of increasing his own sex drive (among other things). There has to be a way to juice his libido up without the massive mistake of attempting to recreate the serum, which has clearly led to way too many fuckups and is beyond even Tony's willingness to use himself as a lab rat.]
You might not have noticed, but when you get horny, I get horny. [Tony softens his sarcasm with a kiss, then nuzzles Steve's jaw. God, he loves that jawline.] Can't say I'm wild about dry-humping on the bathroom floor, though, so if you'd like to relocate...
Say no more. [ Luckily, Steve's hand isn't so injured as to prevent him from dramatic displays of strength. He uses his thighs to lift Tony from the floor, secures a grip with his better hand, and lifts Tony with him as he stands. His balance falters for just a moment; once recovered, he moves them past the threshold into the bedroom. He means to deposit Tony on his still unmade bed, but along the way another idea strikes, and he ends up pressing Tony up against the glass wall looking out onto the grounds. ]
[Oh. Hello. Tony obliges by wrapping his legs around Steve's waist and his arms around Steve's neck. The chill of the glass seeps through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and provides a pleasant contrast to the heat that practically rolls off of Steve's body.]
Okay, being carried like that is my new kink. Extremely my new kink.
[Not to mention being so effectively pressed up against the wall. Tony enjoys walling - and being walled - in general, but there's something about the way Steve does it so effortlessly (like he does practically everything) that turns him on even more.
Maybe it's just because it's Steve doing it. Tony thinks about this as he tilts his head up just slightly and kisses Steve with a renewed hunger, one hand sliding up Steve's neck into his hair.]
You're my new kink. [ Steve murmurs before Tony silences him with another kiss. It may not make any real sense. Thinking is hard to do with Tony this close to him. His hands will have to do the talking as he slips one of them under the hem of Tony's shirt, scraping blunt fingernails along the expanse of his abdomen, up to his chest where he teases the pad of his thumb over Tony's nipple. ]
You're half right. [ Steve doesn't elaborate on which half; he's busy dragging his palm down Tony's torso, swiftly undoing the knot keeping the sweatpants up so he can pull out Tony's cock. As he kisses along the line of Tony's jaw, he whispers against the skin, ] Fuck. You're so hard for me. So good.
[And, not incidentally, because of Steve - although Tony's ultimately the one responsible for this round. But he's already noticed that their arousal loops around and feeds on itself like a horny orobouros until it all blurs together and there's no way of telling who's at fault.]
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[Tony waves it off like it's no big deal - and it isn't, really. If Steve says his bones aren't broken, then he believes him. He sets down the washcloth to take another drink, then gets out the gauze and the rubbing alcohol.]
This is gonna sting.
[Hey, just because Steve doesn't get infections (probably) doesn't mean Tony isn't going to observe proper wound care. He handles this like a professional, although his experience is - shockingly - mostly from treating himself. He sucks a breath in and braces himself as he starts cleaning Steve's wounds, glad that the edge of the sting is filled by the alcohol.]
Ohhhh shit.
[Maybe not enough of it. Ow, that hurts like a motherfucker.]
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He hisses at the sting when Tony begins disinfecting his wounds. ]
Yup. That smarts.
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Except this is something where they probably shouldn't.
The bandaging itself isn't as neat as it might usually be; Tony's doing everything with his left hand, which is already less dexterous even without taking the scar tissue into account. But it doesn't have to look pretty; it's mostly there to stop blood from getting on everything, since it's not like Steve has to worry about anything else.
When he's done, Tony just keeps holding onto Steve's hand, staring vaguely into space as his thumb rubs idle circles on the palm.]
I'll have to see about getting someone in to clean this up.
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In the end, Steve is going to have no one to blame but himself. He could have put a stop to all of this before it even started. He knew, even then, that his feelings about Tony weren't casual. But he wanted whatever he could get, and he's still making that same mistake now, leaving his hand in Tony's because he isn't ready to break contact.
That's the other thing about being Irish Catholic: he's a glutton for punishment. ]
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I didn't mean to imply you made the wrong choice or didn't have an active choice in the matter or...whatever. I just- I'm not good enough for you. [He lifts his eyes to meet Steve's gaze.] I know you aren't perfect, and I'm not trying to make it sound like you're some marble statue on a pedestal. I just think you could find someone better than me. Someone who doesn't pick fights with you all the time, for starters.
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[ Steve sits up on his knees and places his good hand against Tony's cheek. He is distantly aware that normally someone would have to drag the words he's about to say out of him, and even then, it might not work. But they come with an ease now that he's afraid to question. ]
There isn't anyone better than you. Not to me. Even when we're at odds and can't stop fighting, there's still— there's no one else but you.
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Okay, yeah, he's definitely going off on a drunk tangent there. The point is, Tony doesn't understand why Steve seems to want him, but gift horses, mouths, etc.]
I was fucking miserable the whole time we weren't speaking, [he admits while blinking his eyes like there's something in them.] All I did for years was drink and mope and complain about you to anyone who would listen. I'm pretty sure they weren't fooled at all.
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They offered to fit me with a new suit, in Wakanda. I wouldn't take it. I wore out the suit you made me, and then I kept wearing it.
Stopped shaving, too.
[ Sure, there were practical, international fugitive related reasons for his beard. But it also worked for him during a time when he couldn't stand to see his own face. A time when he would've given anything not to be the man who left Tony in the tundra, defeated and alone. ]
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I saw pictures of you with the beard. [A pause, and he lowers his voice.] I kept imagining you giving me beard burn on my thighs.
[There goes the moment, rip.]
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Mmm, and the hair, too.
[Without giving Steve a chance to answer, Tony tilts his head just enough to capture his lips in a kiss.]
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He reaches down to pull the bottle from between Tony's legs and set it on the floor. With that out of the way, he can press himself up as close to Tony as possible. He digs his hand into Tony's hair as he deepens the kiss. ]
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Too bad telepathy isn't an option, [Tony muses when they stop to catch their breath.] Imagine me talking in your head.
[This would actually be the worst punishment imaginable for everyone but Steve.]
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Well, at just that moment, I was thinking about how if I had telepathy, I'd say dirty things in your mind while you were in line at Starbucks, for example, and I'd be like "Oh, Steve, that pumpkin spice latte is hotter than the way you moaned my name when I swallowed your dick last night" and you'd get embarrassingly hard in public and not be able to do anything about it till you got home, but then you'd probably get your revenge when I was in a board meeting and start telling me everything you wanted to do in excruciating detail and I'd just be stuck there staring at investors for, like, an hour.
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Mm. You'd be so helpless, sitting there trying to keep your composure, picturing all the things I'm saying in your mind. [ With his bandaged hand, Steve pulls on Tony's collar until their lips bump into another kiss. Clumsy yet effective seems the theme. ]
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[Thankfully, Steve's lips cut him off, and they're safe from Tony's horny stream of consciousness for the moment. Instead, he shifts to straddle Steve properly so he can grind down against him. Tony's not sure how they can manage any sort of penetrative sex with one and a half functional hands between them, but, hell, he's fine with a bit of frottage.]
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You might not have noticed, but when you get horny, I get horny. [Tony softens his sarcasm with a kiss, then nuzzles Steve's jaw. God, he loves that jawline.] Can't say I'm wild about dry-humping on the bathroom floor, though, so if you'd like to relocate...
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Okay, being carried like that is my new kink. Extremely my new kink.
[Not to mention being so effectively pressed up against the wall. Tony enjoys walling - and being walled - in general, but there's something about the way Steve does it so effortlessly (like he does practically everything) that turns him on even more.
Maybe it's just because it's Steve doing it. Tony thinks about this as he tilts his head up just slightly and kisses Steve with a renewed hunger, one hand sliding up Steve's neck into his hair.]
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[Maybe new in the sense of experiencing it, anyway, but he's not here to argue about semantics.]
Maybe you've been jerking it to handsome men with goatees for years now and I've just never known.
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[And, not incidentally, because of Steve - although Tony's ultimately the one responsible for this round. But he's already noticed that their arousal loops around and feeds on itself like a horny orobouros until it all blurs together and there's no way of telling who's at fault.]
If you're gonna do that, you better not drop me.
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